By Roshna Rusiniya
The old woman looked half-wild: drenched and muddied, but what intrigued me was the surprisingly dry umbrella in her hand. Strange. She turned and smiled at me as if she sensed what I was thinking.
“My son gifted it to me, before he died in the war.” A shadow fell over her eyes.
“This is the only memory I have of him. I’d rather get myself drenched than let it be ruined in a heavy rain like this.”
I nodded. Deep inside my bag lay a broken watch. I recalled a similar conversation with my son after his father passed.
I don’t understand this, the time frame, the place. Heaven, earth? Is the man narrating the dead father? Who is the woman? Why does she appear to him? There’s nothing to connect them? Intriguing, but confusing.
The old lady’s explanation about why she doesn’t want to use the umbrella reminds the main character about a similar conversation with her son after her husband passed away. Instead of the umbrella, it’s the broken watch. Even though these two ladies aren’t personally related, there is a common factor that connects them- their way of making memories last.
I understand perfectly. Mother was drenched because she didn’t want to put up umbrella which her son had given her.
Likewise mc and the watch.
Glad to know that you understood the connection.
I can identify well with this. I have a bedspread that belonged to my mother who passed away some years ago. I use it for picnics or as ground cover when I go swimming but it has holes and has seen better days. I have plenty of things to remind me of her and yet it is difficult to let it go.
Sorry to hear about your mother. People leave us, their memories don’t. I got the story idea after seeing how my mom takes cares of her parents’ favourite possessions after they passed away.
A lovely tale of connection and loss- really well written. I thought it was easy to understand and very relatable.
Thank you
Touched me. Thank you.
Easy for me too. I have a similar watch. Well done.